the long road
by atelophobic
Summary: Intimacy is a learned art, and neither of them are particularly good students. — Mamura/Suzume


**title**: the long road  
><strong>disclaimer<strong>: disclaimed.  
><strong>pairing<strong>: mamura/suzume  
><strong>fandom<strong>: hirunaka no ryuusei  
><strong>word count<strong>: 4056

**notes**: HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY KRIB, MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES FOR THE LATENESS ;A; i tried to make it rly fluffy but i ended up being sort of. introspective? in the beginning. buuuuuut nevertheless i hope you enjoy, you beautiful person you!

* * *

><p><em>i.<em>

"So are you gonna eat that or what," Suzume says in a drawl, dragging a pointed finger towards the last slice of pizza. In a muted fashion, the TV flashes images across its dimmed screen, casting some light in the equally dim room. Even in her lethargic, sleepy state, her eyes catch a familiar shine, and he is uncomfortably aware he is incapable of ever saying no to her.

She looks at him, expectant, and Mamura shakes his head in response. He passes the last slice of meat lover's pizza towards her.

If it were noon, he muses, her movements would be overeager and jerky; she rarely possesses any type of her usual athletic grace when it comes to things like food. But it's not noon. The screen in front of the couch they sit on cuts to reruns of some old drama that they only show during ungodly times. On the table, his watch gleams in the scant moonlight, and its hands neatly inform him that it's almost two in the morning.

Suzume at almost two in the morning is almost a completely different person. Suzume at almost two in the morning moves slow and lazy, her eyes half-lidded, her skin pale as alabaster. There are no endearing awkward angles like in the morning when she asks to hold his hand, her elbow bent out in a 180 degree angle; all solid lined and frank.

The languid curve of her spine and her neck is strange to see after becoming so accustomed to the rigidity of her straightening back those few times he gets a funny urge to hold her.

She munches on the pizza as if she's got all the time in the world—the reflection of color in her eyes makes his stomach do funny things, despite the dusting of crumbs on her chin. Tissue in hand, he brushes them off, feeling the typical blush on his cheeks.

"I think it's time for bed," he says, hushed. Her eyes widen with embarrassment, and her own cheeks start blooming red; right in front of his eyes, she is no longer relaxed and drowsy, instead stiffening up into something geometric. He pulls his hand away from her chin and clarifies with an exasperated eye-roll, "Into our own, _separate_, beds."

"I know what you meant!" she whispers, voice strangled. "It's just, the way you said it…"

She pops the last piece of the crust into her mouth. Her fingers brush against her lips, brushing stray the stray crumbs off, and there's that feeling in his stomach again. He gets up from the couch, stretching, glancing to his left where Suzume is still huddled.

It's 2 o'clock on the dot, and they should really be getting to bed soon if they didn't want to have end up with ruined sleeping schedules.

"Let's go, sleepyhead," he says, his lip quirking up, amusement seeping into his tone. Daytime Suzume would pinch his cheeks, asking something among the lines of _what's so funny_? Night time Suzume blinks at him slowly, struggling to unwrap herself from the blanket labyrinth of her own creation. He watches her flounder. The watch on the table now says its 2:02.

"Mamura… please help," she says, and she's not even one bit sheepish.

"Stand up first, dummy," he says. He pulls her up from the couch. The blanket is easily untangled, and he's left steadying her with one hand wrapped around her waist, the other clutching the soft cotton throw.

He calmly rests the blanket on the arm of the couch and turns the TV off. The room gets darker, the silent shadows punctuated only by moonlight and the unnatural neon glow of electronics. He places his free hand on the other side of her waist. He vehemently tries to convince himself that he's only touching her because _she's going to fall without his help, damn it_.

"Thanks," she says, and it's a testament how tired she is when she sways there for a good minute, hovering close to him, eyes opening and closing as if she can't decide whether she should fall asleep right then and there, standing.

He inhales the musty night air—it smells faintly of Suzume's shampoo and oily pizza. He looks down. His hands are still at her waist.

The soft lines of her fluttering eyes and her cheekbones and her forehead are so frightfully tempting. Turning his head, he focuses on the sway of the kitchen curtains, and the trees outside the window, but like magnet to metal, he switches his attention back to her quickly.

There is deliberation. Hesitation. He leans in, intending to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, but then he takes an unplanned detour to the enticing corner of her lips—

"C'mon," he says suddenly, backing away, his abrupt command sounding too loud in the quiet living room. Suzume startles at the sound of his voice, but allows herself to be lead to his guest bedroom.

She completely misses his furious blush. His mind won't erase the image of her face; his heart won't forget how it swelled up like a sponge with overwhelming affection. Most of all, however, he can't forget how his arms surged up to hug her as he kissed her, sand itching at his back, and how she reciprocated at first, but later expressed her discomfort with acts of intimacy.

(_"I liked it!" she said, "I really liked, um. Kissing you." Their faces lit up like houses burning, and Suzume struggled on, "But, would it be okay to, you know, take it slow?"_)

Mamura watches her mumble good night. She closes the door. He's left with dreams of touching her chastely, on the insides of her wrists. On the sides of her shoulders. There are dreams where he presses his lips against her neck, but he flushes them all away, because Mamura can do many things, but breaking Suzume's trust isn't one of them.

* * *

><p><em>ii.<em>

"It's sort of nostalgic, isn't it?" she says in plain tone, her hand shading her face from the harsh rays of the sun as she arches her neck to look at the blue, blue sky.

Waves lap at the sand at a distance, pushing and pulling at an even tempo. The beach breeze smells like sunshine. Ambient noise fills their ears: the squish of feet pressing on wet sand, children giggling at varied volumes, and sea birds squawking their delight as they skim the ocean's surface, their wings so close to the water yet never daring to get any closer.

"Only you'd think so," he says, straight-faced, but the way he curls his fingers around hers is a clue that he's teasing. She smiles, bright and fresh, and he cocks his head towards her in response, the warmth in his chest unbearable.

"Hey, potato girl, quit being so useless and help me get some food for tonight's barbecue," Yuyuka interrupts from behind them, sticking an arm out and balancing cans of coke in the other. Suzume lets herself get pulled up, bewildered, and brushes a thumb against Mamura's knuckles before letting go of him.

"I'll help, too." It's more of a statement than a question, and he moves to stand. Yuyuka glares at him. He makes the wise decision to maybe keep sitting.

"Thanks, but no thanks, I only need her help," she says, nonchalance in her every word. Mamura's eyebrows furrow. Yuyuka twitches twice, and refuses to meet anyone's eyes, instead opting to stare out at the blurry line where the sky met the earth.

Suzume's eyes widen in understanding.

"Ah, is this about Togyuu—?"

Yuyuka's attention snaps cleanly onto Suzume. She flushes a miserable red; it can almost be mistaken for sunburn.

"You pick the absolute worst times to be perceptive!" she complains, and Mamura can only stare as Suzume is promptly yanked away from him, an apologetic grimace on her face.

"I'll be back," she calls out, her golden dress flapping around her wildly when a gust of wind threatens to bowl both girls over. A can of coke is knocked from Yuyuka's hold, and rolls towards him like a peace offering.

"You dropped your soda," he says to their retreating backs, somewhat miffed that his time with his girlfriend was cut short.

"Keep it!" Yuyuka retorts. He shrugs in resignation, brushes the sand off the top of the can, and takes a swig. Suzume's back grows smaller and smaller and smaller, and he's left to observe the horizon, again watching the sea birds dive dangerously close to the water, swooping and swirling in the wind.

The sun dips closer and closer to the edge of the world, the clouds absorbing the pink hues. He stares at the horizon long and hard, his once-chilled soda warm by his side. He's reminded of their clasped fingers, her thumb brushing over his in a goodbye.

Their hands have touched, already, the sun and the sea; he's already well acquainted with her uneven nails and every callus in the valley between her knuckles. He's memorized her touch, her feel, but dusk comes all too quickly.

What happens to the sun and the sea after the sun sets?

* * *

><p><em>iii.<em>

"This is exactly what I was afraid was going to happen," he groans. He leans on her bedroom doorway, nodding a hello to her uncle as her uncle wanders down the hallway.

The beach has left a furious mark on Suzume's nose. And ears. And neck. And skin, in general. Mamura groans inwardly again.

"Well, there are some positives," she says, unconcerned, "I could've gotten sunburn on my butt. But I don't, so there." She gives him a thumbs up and a serious look, and like usual, he is torn between finding her charming or frustrating.

"I warned you this would happen."

The look she shoots him is apathetic. She turns around, seemingly looking for something as Mamura observes, still at her doorway, wondering if it'd be bold if he sat down on her bed and struggling to repress the blush that came with the thought.

Downstairs, her uncle garbles something unintelligible, with the words "groceries" and "keep the door open!" mixed in. The front door is shut, and even from her room, they hear the definite sound a key turning, locking.

"Ok, Mr. Smartypants, o great knower of all things," she says, and tosses something behind her back. Mamura catches the aloe vera gel easily. He dangles it from his hands, watching her silently as she makes space on the floor and plops down. "Do me a favor."

"Where does it hurt?" he sighs, following her lead and sitting. He brushes his hands hesitantly on the hem of her shirt—earlier, he saw her flinch when she accidentally backed into the corner of her dresser. At the very least, her back must have a some amount of irritation.

"My shoulders. My back," she starts, confirming his suspicions. She leans forward, as if bracing herself. "…And my hands."

"Your hands." He says it in a dry, clipped tone, and he only pauses for a moment before hiking the back of her shirt up a little bit. The skin at her back is angry, and it's peeling in a few places, but otherwise doesn't look so bad.

"Yeah. My hands. So, I leave this job to you," Suzume says, giving a significant look to the soothing gel, her face slightly scrunched up and red not with sunburn but embarrassment, because sure they're a couple, but she is still largely unused to a person of the opposite gender touching her, innocent or not. She closes her eyes in determination. "I trust you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," he says, masking his sudden breathlessness with neutral acceptance. He _won't_ betray her trust. He can be _strictly clinical_. He _will_ be strictly clinical.

He takes a deep, deep breath, and squirts a healthy amount of aloe on his palms. He massages her back without further ado.

Just like that, his entire face erupts into flames, all the way from his ears to his neck, and as he works the gel into the peeling parts of her sunburn, he hopes and prays she won't turn around. So, naturally, she does.

"You are very cute," she says bluntly. Her turned profile betrays sparkling eyes, and the upturned corners of her mouth can only be described as impish. Mamura scoffs, but keeps his arm steady, rubbing circles into her back in a slow rhythm.

Her back is slathered with aloe within minutes. Suzume leans back in an attempt to ease the tension of her spine. The effect of the gel is instant and relieving.

"Thanks, Mamura," she says out of habit, and props her knees under her, ready to stand up. Mamura lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, preventing her from any movement, and she's immediately curious.

"I'm not done," he says, eyes scanning her face and her shoulders. It's Suzume's turn to feel her face warm.

"Uh, that—that really won't be necessary, I just couldn't reach my back properly—" she says, stuttering, even as he spins her around to face him. His eyes are intense and unreadable as always, but something in them gets her to quiet down.

She nods her consent, sitting criss-cross applesauce, mirroring his own pose. Soft heat emanates from his body, and her calves are in the process of getting all sweaty just from the sheer proximity.

"I finish my jobs," he says, maintaining eye-contact with her, as if he meant more than what he was saying. Suzume can't make heads or tails of it; the idea of being alone in her room with her boyfriend is suddenly daunting, but in a good way. Her hands twitch, aching to fiddle with something, but she knows even twiddling her thumbs would cause pain for her.

The redness of his face never quite abated, and it is stimulated again when he gingerly smoothes gel on her shoulders. He works his way up her collarbones, then down to her shoulders again, and when he finally musters enough courage to lightly rub her neck, she stifles a giggle.

"Ticklish?" he murmurs, a rare smile on his face. Suzume is awed every time it happens; the phenomenon is like a blue moon, or a shooting star in clear daylight.

She nods, not daring to speak, not daring to ruin this fragile, precious moment.

He cups her chin. Thumbs swipe at her cheekbones, and her eyes slide close, and her lips are chapped but still awfully appealing.

But she might have imagined the breath fanning against her face, because when she opens her eyes again, he stares at her impassively from a safe distance, smudging her nose with a glob of aloe.

"Dummy," he murmurs, twisting their fingers into a lover's hold, her hands feeling cold relief as they make contact with the gel. "I'm done."

He gets up, scratches the back of his neck and mumbles something about washing his hands. Suzume remains sitting, recalling the sensation of his face inches from hers, the warmth of his legs transferring to hers—and then she tries to swallow down the disappointed lump down her throat, realizing too late that she'd wanted him to kiss her.

* * *

><p><em>iv.<em>

Yuyuka paces her bedroom floor, her mouth forming soundless words, frustration clear in every fiber of her being. Suzume swings her legs against the rich purple covers.

"Listen up, you sack of potatoes," Yuyuka begins, not even bothering to hide her ire. "I'll say this very clearly so even you would understand."

Suzume nods, eager, too used to being the object of Yuyuka's temper to truly be hurt by her words. At this, smaller girl physically deflates, somewhat regretting her choice of words and the condescending manner in which she put it.

"You…" she starts, facing her and trying to piece her words together. "You're not allowed to tell him to take it slow and then expect him to make the first move."

Suzume's demeanor does not change, and she blinks comically at her best friend. Her unmoving expression seems to ask the question, _why not_?

Yuyuka considers banging her head against the wall a few times, but decides that it wasn't worth getting a concussion. She flails her arms out in an uncharacteristic lack of grace. "Ok, fine, let me start over: you told him to take it slow," she says, drawing out the words.

"Hey, don't mock me," Suzume whines, crossing her arms and pouting at her.

"_That's not the point_," Yuyuka grits out. "Stop giving me that look."

(Suzume does not stop giving her that look.)

"The point is," the irked girl says, "is that Mamura _still _thinks you want to take it slow."

The room fills with silence, and Yuyuka scrutinizes her friend closely—soon enough, there's a horrified gleam to Suzume's eyes as she realizes her current romantic situation.

"_Ohhhhhhhh_," Suzume breathes, half in relief and half in guilt.

"Yeah. _Oh_," Yuyuka echoes.

Both girls swim in their own thoughts for a few minutes before Suzume breaks the silence: "So. What do I do now?"

The other girl can only sigh. "Honestly, what would you do without me?"

* * *

><p><em>v<em>.

His acute stare pierces her, making the hair on the back of her neck prickle up. His hand grips the Wii controller tight, and she almost backs away when he takes a step closer to her.

"Again," he says, like he's the emperor of Rome or something. Suzume frowns, rubbing at her sore shoulder.

"Maybe we could do something other than Just Dance?" she asks, the screen in front of her cheerfully declaring Suzume the winner of the round. Again. Inciting Mamura to challenge her to another round. Again.

"We've already gone through all my Mario games," he says, blank-faced. Suzume refrains from pointing out that they only went through them at his insistence to find a game where he could beat her.

"Just admit defeat, already," she says, beaming at him. His only response is a sullen huff.

"You already beat me at all those carnival games a while ago," Mamura says, almost pouting.

"I'm good at what I do," Suzume agrees, trying to be as solemn as possible. Mamura sits next to her, energy sapped out of him, bumping his head to her shoulder in an effort to shut her up. His face stays buried there, on the precipice of her shoulder and her arm, and she has no clue what to do.

Suzume suddenly recalls the advice Yuyuka gave her days and days ago: _you're gonna have to put in a lot more effort._

Mamura seems content to just close his eyes and wallow in sadness right there on her shoulder, but she puts her game face on, the same one that she put on when ran to him in the early hours of the morning to ask him out.

"Hey," she says, steel lining her voice, and it apparently catches his attention because he lifts his head a millimeter off of her. She tries to meet his eyes, but hasn't worked up the bravado just yet.

He inclines his head. She flushes. This _really_ catches his attention.

"So, I, uh—how do I say this, I knew I should have planned something—"

"What are you babbling on about now?" he says, intrigued at her fidgeting and the rising color of her cheeks.

"Just…" she tries again, getting annoyed with herself with her lack of eloquence. Something in her clicks in place, decisive, and her arms fling around his neck. Only Mamura's restraint prevents their foreheads from knocking painfully into each other.

Instead, he rests his head against hers, gentle and soft, like the tips of bird wings gliding on the surface of the ocean. Her arms rest perpendicular to his neck, blundering and artless.

"Relax," he exhales, even though their whole situation was mostly Suzume's fault. They're sitting on the couch, hips facing the TV, chests facing each other. Her arms sag against his shoulders more naturally; one of his arms rests on the back of the couch cushion, and the other supports his weight on the couch arm behind her.

Mamura won't ever admit it, but he's giddy from the closeness. "What's all this about?"

"I wanted to be… close to you… ah, this is embarrassing," she says, mouth contorting to a self-conscious grimace. She evades his gaze by focusing on the ceiling, concentrating particularly on the calming Wii home screen music.

The seconds tick by. Mamura does not move a muscle.

"It's Yuyuka's idea," she finally blurts, and he raises a single eyebrow. _Explain_, he seems to say.

She takes a deep breath. "She told me to… meet you halfway. Especially in affection. Because I do… I like the idea of kissing you. I just don't know how to ask…"

She glances to the side, again, game face thoroughly ditched. Mamura himself almost wants to pry his away from her in a fit of shyness.

"Suzume. Look at me," he says, struck with déjà vu—he said the same exact words to her in the aquarium, long ago. He watches her eyes drift from the TV to him. "You don't have to ask," he tells her. "You just… do it."

Both their cheeks are set aflame, but neither of them move away. He inches close.

"Don't make it sound so easy," she says, voice getting more inaudible as he cups her cheek with his hand. "Because it's not."

"Sure it isn't," he says, rare smile lighting up his face as he presses his lips on hers. All she's really aware of is how warm he is against her. Her arms tighten around his neck, and her legs shift so that her knees push effortlessly into the sides of his. The hand on her cheek lingers when he pulls away.

"See?" he says, and she doesn't reply. Her eyes are wide and dazed, and Mamura can't help but to think he's finally found something to beat her at.

* * *

><p><em>vi.<em>

"Pass me the coke," she orders, sticking a hand out from the pile of blankets. Mamura is decidedly Not Amused.

"No."

"Mamura," she deadpans, her head wriggling out of the blankets.

"It's almost," he pauses and glances at her phone, "two in the morning. Caffeine will only stop you from sleeping. Idiot."

"Exactly!" she says, excitement in her tone, "C'mon, I only want to spend more time with you."

He blanches, face pink. He coughs before responding, "We can spend time together tomorrow. _After _we get a good night's sleep."

A pause.

"_Daiki.._." she pleads, and he succumbs to his fate of the anime marathon she had in mind.

An hour later, Suzume knocks out, head in his lap. The triumphant music of the show plays quietly in the background, and Mamura does his best to clean the table without waking her up. He shuts off the TV as the blue-haired shirtless protagonist flashes a cocky grin and dons his strangely shaped glasses.

"Get up," he whispers, poking at her shoulder. Her only response is a muffled groan, and he is too tired to spend effort trying to rouse her. Instead he supports her with his shoulder, shuffling his way across his living room floor in a cheap imitation of a waltz—his dance partner is far from light on her feet.

Her head rests on his shoulder, arms drooping down, back supported with the firm grip of his right arm and her waist secured with the other. She's all curves and angles the way the slope of her cheek squishes against his neck; the way her knees knock clumsily into his every now and then.

He's elated when he reaches the guest bedroom and he can finally drop his nuisance of a girlfriend off. He tucks her in with slowly, brushing her hair out of her face, before deciding that sleep would be really good right then.

"Good night," he says before standing up. A hand stops him, and Suzume's bleary eyes blink at him.

"Good night," she croaks, coughing to get her voice back to normal. She looks at him like she's waiting for something. "Uh."

"Hm?" he focuses on her, impassive.

"Can I..?" she asks shyly. Mamura gets the memo, but feigns innocence.

"Can you what?"

"You know what I want," she huffs, the lateness of the hour making her uncharacteristically impatient. His lips quirk up into a not-smile, and her heart starts beating a little faster. He leans down closer to her, a handsome gleam in his eyes.

"Just admit defeat already," he echoes back to her, and Suzume pulls him down for a peck or five.

She tastes like soda.


End file.
